Protective in Spite of Himself
by Cheryl78
Summary: Potions classes are never boring when there's Neville Longbottom around. Lucky there's our hero there to save the day!


**Protective in Spite of Himself **

It was an ordinary school day like many others. Harry and the other Gryffindors were having a double Potions class with the Slytherins. They were preparing a quite complicated potion that - as if it was not enough - was quite corrosive and irritating, if it came into contact with one's bare skin. The single ingredients were harmless when handled alone, so they did not need to use protective gloves. But once mixed up together, one had to be careful to keep under control the intensity of the fire beneath the cauldron and, above all, to follow the exact order, and the precise timing. Snape was strolling among the tables as usual, throwing disapproving glances here and snide comments there, without paying any attention to the Slytherins' progresses.

"Time's nealy over," he lazily annouced, with a malicious smirk to Neville.

Ron and Harry had luckily managed to complete their tasks, thanks to Hermione's helpful tips, and were waiting for their potions to cool. Hermione had long since flawlessly finished hers, and was peacefully ckecking the subject of their next Potions class on their text book, something to which Snape had shortly hinted during the lesson. Neville was anxiously sweating, as he hastened to complete his half finished concoction. He was not paying much attention to the exact doses, or orders in the instructions, quite sure about his unavoidable failure. He just wanted to be over with it as soon as possible. As predictable, something went wrong. Neville's cauldron began to bubble in a way that could mean nothing good. All the students near Neville took a few safe steps backwards, throwing apprehensive looks at his cauldron. Neville stood there frozen, desperate to find a way to remedy to the mess. Snape took notice of the commotion at the front tables, and quickly marched back from the other end of the classroom.

"Everybody move away from there, quickly!" Snape commanded, as he hurried in his steps. "Longbottom, get the hell away from there!" he shouted to a petrified Neville.

The poor boy was utterly panic stricken, his feet glued to the spot, as his wide open eyes fixed the alarmingly big bubbles. The potion was about to explode any second. There was no time to waste. Snape hurried forward, and covered Neville completely with his cloak, just in time. The cauldron exploded, sending its contents flying all around the room. The other students were safely untouched but, in his attempt to protect Neville, Snape had no time to cover his face. The corrosive liquid struck him straight in one eye. He gave a hiss of pain, and quickly headed to the stone gargoyle fountain in the back of the classroom, discarding his drenched cloak on the floor.

"Sixty points from Gryffindor," he spat, as he profusely washed his eyes with icy water, "and detention for you, Longbottom!" he angrily snarled to the boy. "Class dismissed!" he barked.

Neville's head dropped down in defeat, and hoplessly waited for Snape to come back, and tell him the time of his punishment. He knew he had messed it all up badly, and felt a little guilty too, as he watched Snape splashing water on his eye. The only thing that seemed to Neville really out of place was why Snape had protected him from the explosion. He was quite sure Snape hated him.What with all his abusive tauntings, and merciless derisions? Yet still, he had taken the risk of seriously injuring himself to save him. Neville gulped hard, as he watched the Potion Master straighten up and walk towards him, holding a damp cloth pressed on his injured eye.

"You'll serve detention with Filch, tonight, at 9 o'clock. And try to avoid blowing the whole castle up, this time," Snape hissed, as he bent down to retrieve his cloak, "It's completely ruined. Hell, and it was my only good cloak!" he spat, as he examined the stained and corroded material.

Neville waited to be dismissed, then darted out of the classroom, eager to put as much space as possible between a furious Snape and himself. The Potion Master threw the now-useless cloak in the waste bin, and headed to the Hospital Wing to have Madam Pomfrey check on his burning eye. The nurse examined it carefully, and asked him a few questions about the dynamics of the incident, ignoring Snape's snide comments about Neville.

"It's nothing serious," she observed, "the icy water prevented a worse irritation. Just keep applying some compresses of Murtlap, and the swelling will disappear in a few hours," she instructed him.

He left the infirmary without even thanking Madam Pomfrey. Not that she even deceived herself in thinking he would. When Snape arrived to the Great Hall for dinner, his eye was back to normal, just slightly reddened. He took his usual seat on Dumbledore's left, and moodily began stabbing at his steak. At the Gryffindor table, Neville threw an apprehensive look at Snape, to see if he was still angry. He quickly averted his gaze when it met Snape'sand spent the rest of his meal brooding about his coming detention with Filch.

"I've heard Mr Longbottom had a little incident in Potions today," Dumbledore commented to Snape over the meal.

"Yes, the last of many," Snape spat.

"But I also heard about the way you've protected the poor student from harm at personal risk, I'd dare say, if your eye is any indication," he added, with an amused smile.

"How do you know it?" Snape asked astonished.

"Oh, Poppy let it slip to me, when I've paid her a visit this afternoon," Dumbledore casually said.

_"Does that nosy witch, with an alarming mother-hen complex, ever mind her own business?"_ Snape angrily though, throwing a side look to the nurse sitting next to him.

"You know, I think I'm starting to have an influence on you," Dumbledore said, his eyes blinking merrily.

"Yes, a bad one ..." Snape whispered back, causing Dumbledore to chuckle.

That evening Snape sat behind his desk in his office, grading a bunch of essays. His eye was completely healed, all swelling and irritation gone. The only painful point was the thought to have lost his best cloak. He knew he had to wait for his next pay to buy a new one. It was still early when somebody knocked on the Potion Master's office door.

"Come in," he idly ordered to whoever it was.

"G-good evening, sir," Neville Longbottom timidly said, closing the door behind him.

"What's the matter now, Longbottom? Is the castle on fire?" he whispered with a certain annoyance at having been interrupted.

"Ehm, no, sir ... I just wanted to give you this," he answered, laying a brown parcel on the desk.

"Well, you can go," he said, dismissing the boy.

Neville did not wait to be told twice, and left the room at once. Snape reached out for the parcel. He turned it on to see if there was some indication of the sender. _"Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions"_ said a tag attached to it. He raised a questioning brow at it, for he could not remember to have ordered anything from there. He opened the wrapping, and was seemingly speechless to find a magnificent, flashing, new, black wizard cloak. He unfolded it, and noticed that it was just his size. As he stood up to try it on, a small piece of parchment fell to the floor. He picked it up, and read it.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I was very sorry to hear from my grandson, Neville, about the little incident he caused today in class. I sincerely hope your eye is feeling better. He also told me about your ruined cloak. As you can see, I took the liberty to send you a new one to repay you for the damage. I'm glad to know that Hogwarts still hires highly qualified wizards, who care about their students' safety._

_Sincerely yours_

_Augusta Longbottom_

Snape was utterly astonished by the unexpected present. His thin lips arched in a smirk at the comment about "caring for the students' safety". He tried the cloak on, and it fitted him perfectly. It was even better than the ruined one, and he sadly had to admit it was even more expensive than anything he could have managed with his mere teacher's wage.

"So good actions pay back, after all," he whispered, contemptuously stroking the smooth fabric.


End file.
